Oh my Sock!

 Dear Sock Thief,

Who are you and why do you take my socks?

Seriously, I would like to know why

I thought that I made it a little challenging for you 

By washing them daily by hand

Staying away from the possibility that a sock or two could get swallowed by a mysterious black hole in the washing machine

Or that the dryer could spin it to shreds leaving only fibers of what once was an odd shaped foot warmer 

But no, it just so happens that after hanging my socks to dry and leaving them for days in the bathroom 

For a day when I remember to use them 

That they’re GONE!!!!

JUST GONE!!!

Where do you take them?

What is the point of holding them hostage?

Will they ever grace the heel of my feet again in an effort to keep my feet warm all year long?

Sock thief what do you do with them and why?

Do you have a secret society where people use them to stuff lumpy pillows that were once fluffy?

Or do you take them to dogs that need a play thing to keep from chewing on a shoe or the edge of a table?

Or maybe you save them as a scratch post for adventurous cats that want to play with something elastic that has the power to stretch and become small again, almost like a slinky 

Sock thief-will you ever tell me?

Will you ever stop borrowing with out returning?

Not just for me but for the many people that stay on watch hoping to keep their matching socks together 

I’ll be here, looking out for you and your swift little feet… 

Bionica

What could have been...

Like everyone else in the big city
She was in a social rush to look busy and important
However just as the machine spit out her new Metro card
She couldn't help but notice him
With that air of mystique
Looking like Clark Kent
In his squared framed glasses
Clean shaven face
Dark and amazing hair
White tee shirt for that underrated simplicity of chicness

It also helped that he was about 6'3
So she looked right at him and then left
Before making her descent down to the humid platform
Where the number one was drawn it in white against a bright red dot
On the edge of the platform was a yellow line from end to end
One that highlighted what could be the danger zone
In the absence of a train

But she didn't notice
Because as she made her way into the cart
Clark Kent was a somehow a few steps ahead
And walked in front of her

Inside the silver tube
The orange and yellow plastic seats invited her to sit down
Yet knowing she should, she didn't
She stood against the ever sliding doors
So as to be able to glance at her right
Into the eyes of Mr. Kent

He said nothing
But still he looked at her
The woman from across the train was friendly
And went over to make conversation
As this happened, Mr. Kent listened intently
Trying to find as much information as possible

But nothing too personal was said
Therefore it was going to be a little harder for him to trace her later
Her new friend's stop cam and off she went
His stop came and so he went
Her stop was next and off she went

Off to wonder what could have been
If perhaps Mr. Kent would have said hello
Or if she would have simply asked him to saver her
With a smile and a stretched out arm
In which her card would be on her hand
With her phone number for him to call…
-Bionica